


I Need Your Body From Dusk Until Dawn

by sarken



Category: The Closer
Genre: F/F, Stakeouts, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5882617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharon joins Brenda on a stakeout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need Your Body From Dusk Until Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> For [fortunatefolly](http://fortunatefolly.tumblr.com), who asked for Brenda/Sharon and #11 from the [types of kisses prompt list](http://sarking.tumblr.com/post/132495654030/send-me-one-of-the-following-numbers-a-ship).

A stakeout.

A  _stakeout_.

There are certain things Sharon considers beneath her, and  _going on a stakeout_  is one of them. She didn't like them when she was fresh out of the academy at twenty-two, and she sure as  _hell_  doesn't like them now that she is -- well, now that she is decidedly  _not_  twenty-two.

She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair when Brenda holds the keys out over Sharon's desk. "One of the very few nice things about being head of FID, Chief, is having this lovely office to work in -- and leave from, on time -- most days."

"Well,  _Captain_ ," Brenda says, in her sweetest don't-forget-I-outrank-you voice, "one of the  _many_  nice things about being head of Major Crimes is getting to borrow personnel from other departments just about whenever I want." Her shoulders slump dramatically and she pouts. " _Please_ , Sharon, don't make me spend the next ten to twelve hours sittin' in a car next to Provenza or Flynn."

Sharon sighs. It's not like there's anything waiting for her at home -- just a bottle of wine, a hot shower, and a freshly-made bed, none of which can compare to the opulent luxury of having her ass go numb as she sits in a cramped car eating corn chips and cheese puffs until dawn.

"Fine," Sharon says, holding out her hand for the keys. She pulls back before Brenda can actually drop them into her hand. " _But_  you're paying for everything we eat or drink tonight,  _and_  our next two lunches."

"Fine," Brenda says. "I'll even take you out for dinner."

Sharon actually smiles when Brenda puts the keys in her hand.

-

By 1:00 a.m., Sharon is pretty sure she's never going to smile again for the rest of her life. Her eyes feel like sandpaper, her mouth feels like cotton, and, it turns out, Brenda Leigh Johnson  _snores_. Sharon didn't even know it was possible to start snoring five minutes into a caffeine-and-a-snooze power nap, but by the eighth minute, Sharon is wondering who, exactly, investigates the head of FID for strangling the head of Major Crimes, and what the odds are that that person owes her a favor.

When Brenda's head lolls onto her shoulder around fifteen minutes and twenty seconds in -- not that Sharon is using her cell phone's stopwatch to time Brenda's nap or anything -- Sharon doesn't even care, because at least she  _stops snoring_. And her warmth is almost pleasant, even if her Red Bull breath is not. If she can do something about that, she might not need to kill Brenda after all.

Sharon shifts her weight and adjusts her seat, and when she's done, she's pretty sure she can handle seven minutes of Brenda's head on her chest. Her hair tickles, and she's a little heavy, but it could be worse. For example, Sharon could not be imagining the warm, wet feeling of drool against her skin. It would be really terrible if that weren't completely in her head.

"Bren-da," she says with a tightened jaw, her voice, lowered as far as it goes, breaking the name into its two separate parts.

Brenda squirms, and there's the wet sound of her closing and opening her mouth. "Fritzi," she whines, right into Sharon's skin, and when she starts pressing  _kisses_  against Sharon's collarbone, Sharon jumps so high she nearly installs an FID-captain-shaped moonroof with her head.

"Chief Johnson!" she yelps, her voice jumping straight to the highest end of its range.

"What?" Brenda asks, instantly wide awake and sitting up, already scanning the block.

Sharon doesn't understand why  _she_  is the one who is embarrassed, her face flaming hot. "I -- I thought I saw your suspect," she says, pathetically, knowing full well there's not even a stray cat to be seen. There's only Sanchez and Provenza in their unmarked car at the other end of the street.

" _Where_?" Brenda demands, turning to look through the back window, her arm draped across the back of the seat. "There's not a soul out there." She turns back to Sharon.

Sharon wants to crawl in a hole and die, or maybe even trade partners so she can sit with Provenza the rest of the night. Instead, she tries to subtly wipe Brenda's drool and -- presumably -- lipstick off her chest. "I must've nodded off," she says, trying to feign sheepishness on a level in line with her excuse. "Dreamed it. You still have five minutes -- you should go back to sleep."

Brenda shakes her head, links her fingers together and stretches her arms out in front of her as far as she can. "I'm awake now," she says, rolling her shoulders, arching her back. "Might as well be your turn."

Sharon thinks about protesting, but realizes she didn't leave herself any room. "If you're sure," she says instead.

"I am," Brenda says. "But you're only getting twenty-five minutes."

Sharon snorts and turns toward the window.

"Sweet dreams, Captain," Brenda teases.

Sharon snorts again, and spends the next twenty-five minutes terrified she'll actually fall asleep and have some.


End file.
